


Santa Snowdina Diet

by Lady_R



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Black Humor, Body Horror, Cannibalism, Chains, Impaling, Loss of Limbs, M/M, Mutilation, Organs, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-28
Updated: 2018-02-28
Packaged: 2019-03-24 22:59:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13821273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_R/pseuds/Lady_R
Summary: "You cut off my limbs, you turned me into a sentient banquet: now you write my memorial, or else I will be forced to let go of my usual niceness and be extremely uncomfortable to face.”“You haven’t been nice in years, Kitty.”“Oh, can you guess why?”Making things - anything - had always been Kit’s way to escape from unhappy moment, and he desperately needs one after fifteen years of pain and loneliness at the hands of his once crush.His last wish - to be remembered for something - is slowly being fulfilled. It’s the least that can be done for him, he thinks. And it’s the best Gyft he could ever ask for.[Axetale AU: Sequel to "Happy Tree Friends - Blood, Guts And Nice Cream (Guy) Cake"]





	Santa Snowdina Diet

**Author's Note:**

> Here you will find the prequel to this story: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12649572  
> I recommend you to read it before this one, to get acquainted to the tone of the writing and my idea of the Kitrot relationship in this AU.  
> This story will be more introspective than the original, which was more of a black comedy.  
> If you don't like gore, excessive quipping and dated pop-punk and emo music I recommend you to stop right now.  
> I am open to negative criticism: just don't insinuate that I support this dynamic in real life, because NO.  
> PS: I hate Sans and this story shows it a lot. If you're a Sans stan, I recommend you to stop right now as well.

**Part 1: Kit Whatsisname And Gyftrot Nobodycares**

 

_“Why oh why does God hate me?_

_'Cause I've seen enough of it, heard enough of it, felt enough of it_

_Had enough of it!”_

_( **Rx (Medicate)** \- Theory Of A Deadman/Theory)_

_“Shackled in chains_

_My soul feels stained_

_I can't explain_

_Got a itch on my brain”_

_( **Anxiety** \- The Black Eyed Peas ft. Papa Roach)_

 

“Once upon a time there was a boy named Kit,

He was smart, intelligent, active, clever, cunning, and loved classic Human bands such as Paramore, Panic! At The Disco, My Chemical Romance and Three Days Grace.”

“That whiny garbage? Kitty, I told you many times how I feel about it.”

“You, Gyftrot, have no right to tell me how you feel about what I do. Especially after calling me Kitty. I told you many times I hate it.”

Kit rolled his eyes. He had become a master of that movement. He imagined colossal tournaments at eye-rolling, and rows and rows of opponents utterly obliterated by the master of Repressed Anger himself. Years and years of spreading smiley faces to the world had taken their toll on his jaw: now it hurt even to speak. Or was it because the day before, a bear monster had bitten his chin off? 

Oh, give him a break. _You know nothing, Kit._

 

Gyftrot wrote on the wall of their Cave. It was of course him that had come up with that term. As if Kit could ever want to share anything with that multi-mouthed, cannibalistic passive-aggressive twat. There was nothing “ours” between them. Kit had Kit’s - which amounted to nothing, but it was still better than sharing his possessions with that monster - and Gyftrot had Gyftrot's. 

He used a bone as a scalpel - “No, baby, that’s not yours, I swear, why would I lie to you?” - and held it with one of his many mouths. Kit’s amount of work was limited to dictating to the twat himself what to write. And if the twat was to complain, too bad: maybe he could have arranged his plan on his own hadn’t he been deprived of his limbs. 

“What is the title, by the way?” Gyftrot asked with another mouth.

“I don’t know.” Kit looked away from him. “How about ‘Detailed Story Of How Everything Sucks Right Now’?”

Gyftrot huffed. “You’re so edgy. Give yourself a break.”

“I’m already broken enough.” He tilted his head to the wall, where his blood-mouthed captor waited, the bone in his teeth and a proud smile on his face. 

“Like this? ‘Memories of Kit Whatsisname from Snowdin Town, written by Gyftrot Nobodycares from the same town’.” Gyftrot snarked. 

“Gyftrot: ghostwriter, captor, cannibal and gigantic piece of _dogrEsidU_.” Kit snarked back. 

Gyftrot went back against the wall, shrugging visibly at his victim. “Do I have to write about your family?”

“No.” Kit grunted. “I don’t want to think about them right now.”

“But you must remember them, Kitty. They’re a part of you. Of your SOUL.”

“My SOUL is probably in someone’s stomach.”

He knew he was being unreasonable, and found a sick delight in watching Gyftrot being uncomfortable and awkward. It was a side of the sadistic tree-deer that didn’t usually show its face, and that only he, his very own sentient trap, had been able to see. 

_Oh, the happy things of life._

 

“What else can I write?” Gyftrot asked. “If it’s not about your family, what is it?”

“I don’t know. I don’t… I don’t remember anything.”

This time, he wasn’t doing it on purpose. He really had a terrible memory. His name was Kit, but he didn’t remember much of the rest. He wasn’t even sure if “Kit” was his actual name, or it was short for something else. Gyftrot didn’t know it, thus neither did he. Gyftrot was more than just his captor: he was all the parts of himself that he didn’t lose, and it went beyond the limbs and the mobility. Gyftrot was the keeper of his memory. A lost memory meant a lost SOUL, which meant a death so sad not even Kit - the most desperate monster in the Underground, who so many times had begged and begged to be put out of his misery in the sweet embrace of death - would have accepted it. 

“Don’t be mad at me, baby. I would suggest it to you, if I remembered it.”

_I am not your baby._ “But you don’t. More proof of how useless you are.”

Being snarky was a form of escape. Kit believed that it gave him more of an identity than the passive victim of tens and tens of hungry beasts. He also believed that he, among all the monsters in the underground, had the biggest right to be snarky. 

If there had ever been “niceness” in him, it was now in some monster’s stomach next to bits and pieces of the physical him. And he didn’t want it back. He would have accepted it if he could, but there was so much more in a priority position. 

“Ok, no writing today.” Gyftrot smiled, and Kit immediately realized that the worst part was coming right up to him. “You have to give me back what I gave you. So shut up and look tasty.”

Kit remained in silence, only mumbling a faint “yes” as the cart he was chained on was wheeled along the icy trails. It was snowing - must be a day that ends in Y. But Kit didn’t mind - he had always loved snow. It was the closest thing to a panacea he could receive in the state he was in. Even that specific moment, eyes wide shut, teeth clanking on each other, dreading the torment that he had never gotten used to despite hoping to with all his might, he felt glad that it was snowing. It felt nostalgic. Warranted. 

My name is Kit, and this is my white and red hell. 

“Food, forest pretties!” Gyftrot sung. “Tasty food for you!”  
“I hate you.”

“Sweet, squishy food for your waiting jaws.”

“I loathe you.”

“Edgy, grumpy food that should stop whining and look tasty.”

Kit gritted his teeth. _What is he, my father?_ He took a deep breath. Yes: you would expect him to get used to it, but no. Apparently being cannibalized was harder than it seemed. 

“Everybody gets eaten around here, Kitty.”

“Nobody gets eaten like this, and you know it. Get away from here. Maybe this is the time I die.”

Gyftrot laughs. “We are writing a memorial. You die, and it’s left incomplete.”

And for whatever reason, Kit was terrified of that perspective. 

_Gyftrot has screwed me all up. Now that I actually want something, what do I do?_

He decided he was going to think about it after _that_. The sound of slurping and a scratchy voice whispering “lunch” in his ear was enough to bring him back into reality. 

_There it comes. There it comes. Stay still and it ends._

“It’s getting hectic everywhere that I go

They won't leave me alone

There's things they all want to know.”

_Maybe singing some human classics would make it less painful. Luckily there is always Good Charlotte to understand your inner pain. Nobody talks to you like human bands. They know. They feel it. They are, sometimes, your only friends. My music, my snow, my memorial._

_My name is Kit, welcome to my house. Have some food…_

“I’m paranoid of all the people I meet

Why are they talking to me?

And why can't anyone see?”

Gyftrot was atop a tree, licking his drooling lips. There was an open jaw, three rows of teeth, aimed at his stomach.  

Kit felt a tear run to his mouth. 

“I just want to liiiaaaaaaaAAAAARHGHHH!”

 

It was their routine. 

The only problem was: Gyftrot never asked him if he wanted it at all. 

 

 

 

**Part 2: A Slice Of KitKat**

 

_“You're not that saint that you externalize_

_You're not anything at all_

_It's oh-so playful when you demonize_

_To spit out the hateful, you're willing and able_

_Words are weapons I'd be terrified_

_You're nothing in my world”_

_(_ **_Words As Weapons_ ** _\- Seether)_

 

“ _Feeling unknown_

_And you're all alone_

_Flesh and bone_

_By the telephone”_

_( **Personal Jesus** \- Depeche Mode, also covered by Marilyn Manson and Mindless Self Indulgence)_

 

“You know my heart is in Snowdin-ah, my body is a dinner, Snowdin na oh na na.”

Kit was lost in thoughts, breathing lightly not to upset any of his aching entrails. He did it again. Gyftrot had a lot of flaws, but those limbs - LIMBS - of his were strong. And there he was, healing again from his daily cannibalization routine. 

But hey, there was nothing to hate himself about. It’s not like he did anything wrong - he had his share of innocent victims, of course, but he wasn’t a sadist. He was just a young businessman with a plan. He was in no way going to end up like that Burgerpants bastard. Besides, it wasn’t like he couldn’t ever be strong. 

_People with no limbs can do gym, I know for a fact. Too bad I am shackled._

“I HATE LIFE.”

“I told you, you’re an emo child.” Gyftrot laughed. “A sweet emo child with a lot of air in his lungs.”

“Don’t mention lungs in my presence, twat of a twat.” Kit grunted. Gyftrot was a sadist in every sense of the word, even without physically harming him. Sometimes it was hard to believe that the deer monster didn’t hate him, as he constantly said. 

“Stop the world. I want to get off.”

Suddenly, Gyftrot propped himself up. And this always meant bad news, because Kit had to be invested in his presence.

“I have a Gyft for you.” he said. 

_What?!_ “A Gyft?” 

Kit knew some things about his captor, and the first thing you had to know about Gyftrot Nobodycares if you wanted to survive in his presence is that he hated his namesake - gifts, that was. 

But Kit could understand. If was for a similar reason why he hated the noise of chewing. 

_In a way, we both know torment. He knew it before I did, but that’s never an excuse._

“You’ll never believe what I found today.” Gyftrot said, the proud tone of a child who just got a good grade and couldn’t wait to let their parents know. Now, if Kit had been integer and Gyftrot’s parent or tutor, the deer monster would have had to wipe that grin off his ugly mutated face.

“Unless it’s a new set of limbs I can use to punch you until you’re red in the face, I am not interested.” Kit hissed. Gyftrot laughed from one of his mouths. It was a sweet, silvery laugh, appropriate for a mouth that hasn’t tasted pints of blood. 

“It’s not.” he said, deadpan in tone but with a clear smirk on his snout. “But I believe you’ll like it even more.”  
Kit’s planned answer was something along the lines of “Just keep on believing.” But the seconds that followed told him that yes, it was possible for him to hate Gyftrot even more than he already did. 

“My navel piercing?”

Gyftrot grinned, holding a lilac plastic circle the size of a wedding ring between his teeth. It was indeed his piercing, the one that had caused such a frenzy at the Snowed Inn when he had showed it off to his family. Not as big a frenzy as when he had dyed his whole body blue (or “Blazing Blue Beauty” as Mettaton had dubbed it), but a frenzy nonetheless. 

_You shouldn’t waste your body like this, she said. Oh, mom. If you only knew that was but the tip of the iceberg._

“Kitty? Are you here?”

“Sadly yes.”

“You want it or not? Because I can throw it away if you don’t want it.”

“NO!”

Gyftrot jumped at the sudden scream. _Oh, I scared him. It’s a good thing. He deserves every negative emotion one could feel._

“Gee, Kitty, lower your voice.” Gyftrot whispered. “You should…”

“You should what?” Kit grunted. Gyftrot was stuck in place, staring into the snow, an expression of dread on his many eyes. 

And it was then when Kit remembered that there was in fact someone he hated more than Gyftrot in that whole blasted Underground.

“Heh. You really should lower your voice, Kitty.” a baritone voice said. “You could end up eaten by someone.”

Gyftrot stepped backwards and placed himself in front of Kit in an attack stance. 

“You know I won’t attack. Don’t get your antlers tangled up, Gyftrot.”

_Of course you don’t. You kill them all except the one who wants to be killed._

Once, after a light day where only half of Kit’s body had been torn off, Gyftrot had asked him why he was so determined to get away from Snowdin as soon as possible. It was not like food-selling rabbits weren’t a thing back there. And he had an endless supply of snow to make Nice Creams out of. 

The answer was one name: Sans. 

 

“Good morning, guys.” The skeleton chuckled. Kit hissed as an answer, looking away from him.

“Sociable as always. He’s far from a sweet tooth, isn’t he, Gyftrot?”

“We don’t talk to you.” Gyftrot said. Sans laughed, his yellow eye glistening. “You just did.”

_Why is he so stupid?_ “Unless you’re here to jam an axe in my throat, your presence isn’t welcome.”

“Oh, so he does talk.” Sans walked to his side and placed a hand on his shoulder. “How’s my favorite luncheon?”

“Guess.”

Sans patted his shoulder. “Why are you always so cranky?”

“Guess.”

Please, be annoyed by how repetitive I am and go away. But Sans simply widened his smile and leaned on his axe like a walking stick.

“Are you still bitter for me not eating you?”

Kit huffed. “Guess.”

“He is. I have to protect Aliza. You’d understand if you had a child.”

“That didn’t stop you from murdering my family, you twat.” Kit tried to force a condescending smile on is face, feeling incredibly dismayed that his thick rodent teeth weren’t able to pierce through the bone. 

_Why, oh why, does God hate me? Wait, I see it. There’s no God._ That could only mean one thing: he had to deal with it on his own.

As always. 

“I can’t stay for long.” Sans said. “I gotta go for a hunt. Aliza is hungry.”

“Sure. But when I do it, I’m a terrible being.”Gyftrot quipped. 

“If I can help you, from Snowdinian to Snowdinian,” Kit giggled, “You should chop off her limbs, tie her to a cart and have everyone come eat her up. We could form a corporation.”

“I always said Kit was smart.” Gyftrot intervened. “A field in which you, my dear Sans, have a lot of catching up to do.”

Sans forced a laugh. “I will punish the two of you for this remark by not killing you today.” 

_As if you would have had. But I am not Aliza, nor I am Papyrus. I am worthless to him._

“So, Gyftrot.” Sans asked. “Did you hear about the Snowdrake that crossed the road?” 

“Yes. I ate him.” Gyftrot answered, deadpan stare.

Sans huffed, clearly unsatisfied. “How about you, KitKat?”

“KitKat?” _Now, that ’s new._ It wasn’t good news, because it was Sans-related. 

“Like the human snack, pronto?” Sans grinned.

_Oh, no. You didn’t._ Kit felt a twinge in his exposed stomach.

 “Because you’re Kit, and you’re edib…”

“GYFTROT!” Kit screamed, a heavy rattling of chains following his attempts to flail his stumps in rage. “Get that twat of a twatting twat away from me before I say things I may regret.”

Sans remained unfazed. His grin was as still as a statue, shining teeth of white that had remained clean for a reason he wanted to grasp. He couldn’t see his teeth, but his little nose was as strong as before, and he knew that those damn entrails had ruined his lovely breath.  

“You have no sense of humor.”

“I’m an ice cream maker. It’s par for the course.”

Sans rested against his axe as if it was a walking stick: “Whatever. Loss on you. Still no interest in that Snowdrake?” 

“NO!” Gyftrot and Kit screamed simultaneously. “Just get away from us.”

Sans stood still. His grin shone like a diamond, a perfect half-moon in the middle of his skull. “So, there was a Snowdrake, who crossed the road…”

There was a time when Kit really liked smiles. That time was over. Now he wanted to be free from his chains, just for a moment, for the sake of slapping Sans on his ugly face. 

“Kitty?”

“What is it, my somehow second-most-hated-person-in-the-world?”

“Maybe if we ignore him, he goes away. If it works with Jerry…”

“I can hear you, Gyftrot.” Sans chuckled. “You’re not as stealthy as you believe.”

Gyftrot looked away from him. “Sing with me, Kitty. _When I put my lips on you, you feel the shivers go up and down your spine for me, make you cry for me_ …”

_Oh, our song._ Kit had grown to love that melody, even though he’d never admit it. It was catchy, easily sung even in the position he was in, and was a distraction from his hellish way of living - especially when Sans was around.

“ _When you put your lips on me, I hear my screams echoing all through the night for you, make me cry for you_.” Sans blinked once, rubbing his skeletal palms on the axe’s hold.

“What are you, the PussyKitKat Dolls? Gyfty & The PussyKitKats? Or maybe KitKat Stevens?”

“It’s not working, baby.” Gyftrot whispered.

_I have seen that. And now I have the shame of being called “PussyKitKat”._

He pondered for a moment. Their tactic was all wrong. Sans lived to be a comedian, even after the Hunger. And there was only one way to beat comedians: their own weapon.

_I will regret this._

“Oh, I know. You’re First Aid KitKat. Get it? Because you need more than first aid in the state you are.”

_I’m going to regret this._ But after being kidnapped, mutilated, chained, impaled, disemboweled, eaten alive, and forced to swallow his own entrails, for years on end, there wasn’t much of him left to lose. 

“I’m Kittalicious!” he chanted. “I’m hot hot. I’m Kittalicious, they wanna taste on what I got!”  
“T-T-T-T-T-TASTY, TASTY!” Gyftrot laughed and rolled in the snow. _Great, now he’s happy. And if Gyftrot is happy, Kit is not._ But he kept singing the whole song, stern as a rock, feeling prouder and more confident and more realized as it went on. 

As Sans started looking around awkwardly, rubbing his hands on one another and fidgeting with his locket ( _kitsch little thing… why can’t I have jewelry? ‘Because they’d eat it off me in no time’ is no excuse!)_ , Kit decided to fire his final shot.

_I am so, so gonna regret this._

“ ‘Cause I'm all that you want, boy, all that you can have, boy, got me spread like a buffet, bon appétit, baby!’ ”

And he did regret it. Suddenly he felt stupid, and out of is mind. And used, because he was slowly realizing, as the days went by, that his position as a sentient trap to be eaten alive was being ingrained in him. And he was letting it happen. He had stopped fighting back, trying to wiggle his stumps out of his manacles, to scream for help, to persuade the monsters that came to devour him that he could have been of better use free and integer. He didn’t even beg to be killed anymore - not straightly, anyway. But muttering “let me die” and actually wanting to were far different things, and Kit had experienced them both during his fifteen-years ordeal. 

He was just living his way through his torment as if it was the way he was born to live as. And he hated it with every fiber of his being. 

But then, Sans turned around and grabbed his axe. “I will… see you later.” And he walked off, muttering something that sounded like ‘I gotta star away from these’. 

“Oh, Kitty mine.” Gyftrot’s many eyes shone of glee. “You delicious bun-bun, you chased him away!”. 

Kit laughed, relaxing himself. _I hate this cart. I hate this stupid uncomfortable cart. I hate that I hate my cart, the cart I built myself with my spare time._

“I just reminded the twat that annoying comedy is annoying.”

“You did more than that, my sweetie.” Gyftrot whispered, licking the inside of Kit’s ear. He peeped in disgust. “You made him mad and uncomfortable. And this is a good thing. It’s the greatest thing you can do for me.”

Kit closed his eyes, tensing himself until Gyftrot’s tongue was out of his ear and back into his mouth. The deer monster rolled around in the snow like a buck. _The pleasure of the sadist is childish._

“I love making him mad, Kit…"

“DON’T.”

“Hey, don’t be mad, baby. I wasn’t going to say that. I don’t rip off Sans’ jokes.”

Kit gritted his teeth. He hated that skeleton with a passion.

“It would be so, so easy for him to just… get me out of here. He has an axe. He’s not scared to use it. He knows I want it. And yet, he prefers swinging it around just to save his family.”

“I know, I know.” Gyftrot said, patting his shoulder. “You should let that go. You know how he is. You’re not family: you have no worth to him.”

“Like ice cream wrapping paper: no worth at all.” 

Suddenly, Kit felt sad. Not like the angry, frustrated sadness before: it was the numb sadness, the one that kept you immobile even more than those chains could. The one that said that it wasn’t worth it. Nothing was. 

_Am I really of no worth?_

He closed his eyes. A sob escaped his lips. Then another. And at the fifth, he felt a twinge of that old desperation of the days when his wounds were fresh and his chains and pole felt alien.

“Baby?” It was Gyftrot, master at barging in when he wasn’t needed. 

“My ring.” he mumbled. _Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t you dare cry, you disemboweled twat._

“What?”

“R-I-N-G. Ring. Where did my piercing go, Gyftrot?”

“It’s here.” he said. _Oh, thank God. Wait, there’s no God in this world._ “I hid it here, in the snow. You never know, he could have taken it for his own and give it as a Gyft to Aliza. ‘Don’t you already have enough rings on your own, KitKat?’ No, I couldn’t let it happen.”

“Show it to me.” Kit shook his lack of arms again, cringing at the stupid nickname. “I wanna see it, Gyftrot.”

The deer monster held the rings with his teeth and held it close to Kit’s bloodshot eyes. Suddenly, Kit felt warm. Which was unusual, since he now believed that he didn’t need chains or a pole in the chest anymore: the frost did the job of holding him in place just fine.

_One day, my disemboweled corpse will lay here, on this very spot, and I will be no longer of this world. Maybe I will be happier. Maybe I will have regrets. Maybe I will suffer even more than I already have. No, no, I can’t have that. I have too many unfinished business to die like a twat._

“It just… kept itself in place.” Kit whimpered. “Like me. You don’t break that kind of glass so easily. It’s magical glass: it kept me from getting infected, and it can’t break, not even if you hit it with a sledgehammer. But ice… ice can be broken. Piece by piece. Bite by bite. Until all that’s left is the dust.”

“Then what are you?” Gyftrot asked. “Are you ice, or are you glass?”

“I am Kit. And this is all I will say about this matter.”

He caught one last glance of his precious ring before Gyftrot tucked it away. “Now I want to look at it too.” Kit harrumphed, but had already realized that it was of no use.

“I don’t get piercings. Or earrings for that matter. Why would you ruin your own body before people can do if for you.”

_Hypocrisy, thy name is Gyftrot._  
“I don’t ruin my body.” Kit grunted. “If anything, you ruined it. I had limbs, before. My entrails were inside my belly, before. And guess who ruined them? You did.”

“How is piercing your belly not self-ruin?”

Kit laughed out loud, stopping himself only when a sudden shot of pain from his stomach reminded him that sentient meals don’t laugh. 

_Nobody tells me what to do._ But that didn’t take away the pain. He forced himself to stay silent and 

“I chose to. I liked how it looked on me. It made me feel special. Strong. Like I could obtain what I wanted.”

Now, it was Gyftrot’s time to laugh. “How does a ring of glass make you feel special?”

Kit remained in silence for a moment, savoring the taste of Gyftrot’s confusion. 

“Because it’s my ring. And nobody wears it like me. If I have enough piercings, even, I could wear them like nobody else did.”

“Oh, don’t tell me you wanted more.” Gyftrot almost screamed. 

“I did.” Kit laughed again, lighter this time, clenching his teeth afterwards to tame the ache of his belly. “Rings upon rings.”

“They would have been a deterrent to the customers.”

“The customers should learn not to judge the food servers by their piercings.”

“Point to you.”

Kit nodded theatrically. “I always wanted earrings, but my mom had said that if I “butchered myself” one third time she would have kicked me out of the house. She doesn’t understand. I am 20 years old. In a few months I’ll be able to buy a drink at a bar.”

“We can have a party together, if you want.” Gyftrot laughed. “We can save from the catering.”

Kit preferred to remain in a dignified silence, praying that one day Gyftrot choked himself on some bones and left that wretched world for good. 

But what about him, then?

Kit was only there for Kit, to care for him, protect him and make sure no harm came to him. He had done a lousy job - especially at the latter part - but it was still his duty. 

_I’ll figure something out. I can allow myself a little bit of a dare: it’s not like things can get any worse, after all._

 

**Part 3: Manic Pixie Dream Bun**

“ _Can't you see that you're smothering me?_

_Holding too tightly, afraid to lose control_

_'Cause everything that you thought I would be_

_Has fallen apart right in front of you_ ”

_( **Numb** , Linkin Park)_

 

_“I've got the scars from tomorrow and I wish you could see_

_That you're the antidote to everything except for me_

_A constellation of tears on your lashes_

_Burn everything you love, then burn the ashes.”_

_(_ **_My Songs Know What You Did In The Dark_** _, Fall Out Boy)_

 

“KitKat… hah!”

They were back at the cave, and Kit was fuming. 

“KitKat. Have you even… KitKat! Can you believe that guy?”

Gyftrot was pacing in circles. “Can you stop now? You’ll give me a headache. I am not spending my Gyftmas in pain.”

_He talks about pain?_ “It’s the least you deserve. You deserve to have your head explode, Gyftrot. In tiny little pieces I can put in Nice Creams and serve to the people that decorated your ugly snout.”

From the awkward silence that followed, he could tell Gyftrot hadn’t been able to answer. He waited for his captor to come up with a proper response, clenching phantom fists.

“I swear, wasn’t it for that axe, I would kill him.” he finally spewed off.

He sounded scared, uneven, and Kit loved every minute of it. Gyftrot had a love for theatrics: he loomed over his prey, trapped them under his hooves like in a cage, and sucked all their innards with a strong blow of his inner jaw. He savored their deaths until the very last moment. But when they were alone, and nothing could place itself between him and his snarky prisoner, he had nothing to hide behind. 

“He deserves it. We could enjoy it together.”

“No.”

Gyftrot staggered backwards, almost tripping on his own hooves.

“No?”

“No, Gyftrot. We can’t. We can’t, because I want nothing from you. Because you ruined me. Because I have lost everything I had, and I am in constant pain, and I have nobody else left beside my own little cold brain. All because of… you! You, the twat that decided that I had to become his little tool of vengeance.”

Gyftrot opened his main mouth, but no sound came out. But Kit knows that being speechless was not going to save him. His tongue was his only weapon left, but he was well-trained.

“So?”

“It’s the way our world works, my beloved Kit.” Gyftrot babbled. “I couldn’t have let them get over me. I couldn’t have let them eat me.”

“Eat you?” Kit’s voice was shrill, his eyes dilated. “But it’s all fine when it happens to me, isn’t it? What am I to you, Gyftrot? This is all I ask to know, what I am to the only person I have left in my life.”

Gyftrot walked back, and started pacing around the ex-Nice Cream cart. One lap, two, three, and after the sixth Kit had stopped counting. It was hard to focus on anything, especially when he was particularly mad.

“You know I don’t hate you, Kit. You know this wasn’t supposed to be you. I could have chosen anyone in your place.”

“Someone else could have suffered the way I am now, if only I hadn’t been in the wrong place at the wrong time. You’re so good at consoling others, Gyftrot.” the rabbit monster huffed. “Stop trying to be nice to me, ok? It never works. And I know firsthand. Just leave me be.”

Kit closed his eyes, his fur tensing at the presence of the warm air of the cave. 

It wasn’t the physical pain, he had gotten used to it after a while. It wasn’t the stress, the cold, the uncomfortable position. It wasn’t the grief of his lost family - if anything, he was happy for them, as well as quite jealous that they were far from that place of hell, safe and painless, while he was spending his days being devoured alive piece by piece.

It was the frustration: the sense of helplessness, of being a passive player in someone else’s story. Of being able to do pretty much nothing except snark and scream and eat his own disgusting, slushy, tasteless entrails. And snark more, because he needed that, he so needed that. And scream too, not into the nothingness as he usually did: scream _at_ someone, for something. 

_KitKat. Oh, I’d give you the KitKat. I’d give you all the KitKat in the world, and with KitKat I mean punches._

He wanted to enjoy things again. Anything: it didn’t matter the morality or the utility. 

Maybe that was why he was so desperate to write a memorial about himself, even if his own tormentor was to be the one who did all the actual writing. He wanted to be remembered, to leave an impact that went beyond two rows of sharp teeth digging inside his flesh and tearing it away. 

“Gyftrot?”

“Yeah, baby?”

Kit cringed. “Have you ever been to New Home?”

“No, why? Does that even matter?”

“To you, it doesn’t. Not that it’s a problem. I had friends in New Home. I wondered if they’re even thinking of me at all. If they know what has become of me.”

Kit sighed loudly, feeling small and useless. He noticed Gyftrot’s head resting at his side, bloodied and relaxed-looking. 

“We used to do things. Make things. Projects. Something of substance.”

He was so close at achieving his big break. Mettaton had told him he was interested in the Nice Cream deal. He had spent days designing drafts for a new, Mettatonized confection. 

But now, Mettaton was gone. Alphys had managed to tell everyone before she had vanished as well. And so had Burgerpants, Bratty, Catty, and everyone he knew. 

“We wanted to take over the world. And we could have. Even now, I can still imagine myself grasping it.”

Fantasy: the only escape for the convicted prey.

Gyftrot was curled up next to him, silent. _Don’t ignore me, you twat. Do something. Say something._

“Why do I even bother? You probably see all this as ‘edgelord musing’.”

“I do.” Gyftrot whispered in his ear. “But I love it when you muse. You’re my favorite monster in all this hellhole.”

“Show, don’t tell.”

Gyftrot’s expression was dumbfounded. Kit let out a chuckle of amusement. “Show it to me. Write, twat. Grab that bone and write my story until your jaw hurts.”

His tone was stern, like a teacher or a parent - the rightfully angry type. And as Gyftrot scrambled to grab his pointy bone from the ground and filed it on a nearby rock, Kit remembered, with an undying joy and fury to just… do it. Let it all out. His strange, painful story.

He remembered his family. His big family that was now all dead - all because one singular skeleton had decided that his family was more important than anyone else in the world. It didn’t matter who they were, what their story was, how much they desperately needed just that little extra effort to release themselves from their daily misery. But they were dead, away from the hunger and the pain. Unbeknownst to him and what had fallen upon his silly little head. 

His strict, but loving mother, and her sweet-as-honey Cinnamon Buns. His uncle who served in the Royal Guard and his secret crush on his partner - he was probably dead too anyway, a pile of bones lost next to the lava pits. His little sister that called him “Sweet Kit” and stole Nice Creams from his cart when he was busy downloading Good Charlotte, Falling In Reverse and Bring Me The Horizon from the Undernet. His brother who shared a bunk bed with him when they were little bunnies, and who swapped Mettaton trading card with him as tweens. His older sister, one in constant search for hot guys, the other a hopeless romantic with a love of all cute things. His aunt, owner of the Snowed Inn, the last place he had seen his family in before coming across Gyftrot and losing everything he had ever had. 

The lights of New Home, the flowers, the parties and memorials for the Royal family, and that Mettaton concert he had gone to with his three best friends - the last of five he had been to. Bratty taking off her shirt and screaming at the beautiful celebrity, Burgerpants and Catty making out behind the back of a buffalo monster - he didn’t even want to go, he was only there for her. Napstablook whispering a faint goodbye at the crowd, Shyren’s sweet tooting and green hair.

And the beautiful eyes of Mettaton as he sung his grand finale, curtsying at his crowd, a smile on his face that felt as big as the moon itself. 

“I saw so many things.” Kit mumbles. 

“And I wrote them all down.” Gyftrot adds, gravely. Kit tenses when he feels the other’s fur against his own, a head next to a head, their breaths interlocking in the nearby air. 

“So, have you accepted the Gyft from me, my love?” Gyftrot then asks, staring at Kit dead in the eyes. “Please. Don’t be cranky. I just… want to prove you that I don’t hate you.”

“Shh. Not now. Let me look at what we made.”

The memorial covered the entire wall, Gyftrot’s thick scribbling as precise as a computer. Tears welled up in Kit’s eyes, and his mouth suddenly felt bitter.

“Yes. Gimme that.” Kit ordered. “No, I changed my mind. Leave it here, on that rock. And write on the ground ‘precious property of Kitberley Whatsisname.’.”

_So, I do have a full name._ He didn’t even know where it had come from. Maybe it was a bit of memory within him, kicking to come out with legs that couldn’t be chopped off. 

Gyftrot nodded. Kit felt a sudden ache at his stomach seeing his little jewel abandoned on the rubble - and no, it wasn’t the ache of being devoured alive. _Mom was mad, but I felt proud. It was a part of me. It was a choice I had made. And now, it’s been taken from me._

“Do you like it?” Gyftrot asked in an eager tone. 

“Yes. I like it. It’s what I needed to prove myself that the best of us can find happiness in misery.”

Gyftrot blinked: “That’s… quite brave of yours, Kitty. Or is it another one of these edgy bands you like so much?”

“Yes. It’s Fall Out Boy, my favorite band of all time. But what do you care?”

“I care because, for some reason, I’m starting to get into your music.”

Kit lifted an eyebrow. “I will not teach you.” There were parts of him that he was determined to keep from Gyftrot or from anyone who could have been interested in biting them off. And music was among them. Wasn’t that what Mettaton said? That music is a part of us, just as much as our whole bodies?

Or maybe it wasn’t Mettaton. It was someone else entirely. Maybe it was no one at all, just something that Kit’s damaged mind had concocted just to keep him sane, to keep his SOUL from ending up in pieces. 

Either way, he was stern. 

“Then, the day is over.” Gyftrot chuckled. “And when the whole Snowdin forest has fallen under my hooves, only you and I will be left, to feast endlessly on their misery.”

Kit remained silent. He had no idea how he was supposed to answer that. He didn’t want to look at that perspective. Right now, all he wanted was peace - and the faint pride of having made his memorial. 

“Happy Gyftmas, my sweet bun-bun.”

Kit chuckled lightly, leaning his head back and relaxing the muscles on his stumps. 

_One day, people will read my story. My indestructible piercing will lay here next to the dusty remains of my destructible body. People will know that I existed and suffered, and what I fought against to numb that pain._

_Life is suffering, I say. And now that I know the deepest, longest suffering one could go through, I can say that I made it through._

“So what am I to you, Gyftrot?”

“I guess you could say… you’re the last great part of my life.”

“Like my ring to me, and my new memorial?”

“Exactly. Does it fit you?”

“Yes. It does.”


End file.
